


Gormless Seduction

by munchmulch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multi, Stabbing, They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), idiots to lovers, seduction assignment, they just have one brain cell that they play hot potato with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munchmulch/pseuds/munchmulch
Summary: Crowley grimaces. "Nhnnnnggg, ok, alright. But, hear me out." They flick a hand dramatically. "An angel! A being who can make Holy water! Even if I can keep the whole human disguise thing up, what if they, I don't know . . . want me baptised?"Dagon stares at Crowley blankly for a second before handing them the assignment kit. "You’ll start tomorrow. The address is highlighted, if you get lost and have to call me for directions Iwilldirect you through at least three traffic jams."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

This is an odd assignment even by Hell’s standards. 

Dagon scowls at Crowley’s complaints. "You'll be fine. We've done this before and acquired information from the angel." They glance at the document in their hands. "They're low ranking, so we're not expecting anything too fancy, but they take humans as lovers and have a tendency to babble about work. Especially when drunk."

Crowley grimaces. "Nhnnnnggg, ok, alright. But, hear me out." They flick a hand dramatically. "An angel! A being who can _make_ Holy water! Even if I can keep the whole human disguise thing up, what if they, I don't know . . . want me baptised?" 

Dagon stares at Crowley blankly for a second before handing them the assignment kit. "You’ll start tomorrow. The address is highlighted, if you get lost and have to call me for directions I _will_ direct you through at least three traffic jams." 

\--

Crowley waits until they're back at their flat to go through the kit. It's a standard black suitcase, the kind you'd expect a mobster to carry money in if said mobster had been hanging out in a landfill for a year.

There's a thick instruction manual on top which Crowley casually throws in the bin1. Under that is a pendant shaped like a wing, contact lenses in a little snap case, a manila folder, some folded clothes, and a bottle of Axe body spray.

Quickly running through the very small pool of information Crowley has on these kinds of missions they conclude that the pendant is probably the thing that will suppress their own demonic signature. It's 50/50 on whether the body spray is meant to disguise the scent of sulfur or if someone in requisitions thinks it's a seduction tool. 

Either way, it finds itself in the bin. 

Reading through the paperwork reveals the angel to be a Principality. Crowley’s bad feeling about this assignment increases. Principalities were _made_ to be soldiers, created after the war specifically to prepare for future battles. Crowley doesn't know how the demons who've taken this assignment before got out of it alive but they _do_ know that they themself get by more on slithering out of trouble than any actual power level. If they get discovered their goose is cooked.

Further reading reveals that Aziraphale, Principality and guardian of the Eastern gate, lives in Soho. Which is a pretty odd place for any angel to live to be honest. Though, an angel who frequently takes human lovers is clearly someone already dancing a foot over the company line. 

Still thinking, Crowley absentmindedly unpacks the clothes and then has to take a moment to process what they’re looking at.

Light blue button up, brown corduroy slacks, sweater vest, and a bowtie with little ducks on it. 

Crowley sweeps them dramatically in the bin, making sure to do it in view of the rest of the kit so it will know what happens to things that don’t prove their worth.

Crowley almost makes it to the bathroom to put in the contacts before they speed-walk back to their office to fish the bow tie out of the bin. 

They'll figure out something to do with it. 

\--- 

The Angel's residence is a little bookstore that is both older and dirtier than the surrounding shops2.

The first three times Crowley goes to scope the place out the shop is closed. The place has wards but they're geared to intent not species and shouldn't be alerting the angel to Crowley's presence, even if the demon wasn't wearing the aura dampening necklace. Saying as all three visits are perfectly reasonable business hours and googling A.Z. Fell and Co. only turns up a yelp page that Crowley plans to read through later, the demon is brought to the low of having to squint around the doors and front windows for some kind of hours listing. 

When they find it and painstakingly work through the small lettering3 they have to rock back on their heels and think for a moment. Then they slap a hand to their mouth and bend at the waste as wheezing laughs rack their body.

Oh, this is going to be _entertaining._

\--- 

Crowley really didn't expect getting into the bookshop to be the first real hurdle of this mission but that doesn't stop the rush of pride when they manage it. 

This great accomplishment was achieved by lurking in an alley for about sixteen hours until the little closed sign was flipped to open. 

At 3AM. 

Crowley _has_ actually been in a bookshop at 3AM before, but that bookshop hadn't been open, and Crowley had been in it to have a meeting involving a large number of rodents in regards to the shiny new pet groomers next door.

Crowley's never, however, been to an _open_ bookshop at 3AM. Crowley's pretty sure that if you lined up every bookstore in the world and asked the employees, this would be the only one that has ever been open at 3AM. 

Currently Crowley is browsing vintage spy novels while the owner glares daggers at them over their own, clearly forgotten, novel. 

Crowley keeps their face blank and unconcerned. 

Carefully edging a copy of _The Day Of The_ Dolphin off the shelf Crowley lopes over to the register and asks in their most sincere voice. "Hey, do you carry the audio version of this?" 

The irritation that has been building into something close to rage on the angel's face is wiped away in an instant in favor of complete bafflement. "Why would I -?" They glance around their shop as if checking to make sure it is still a very small vintage bookstore with enough dust on the shelves to sneeze at. 

Turning back to Crowley, bewildered, their eyes flick to the demon's sunglasses. The sunglasses being worn at 3AM in a very dimly lit room. They bite their lip, looking conflicted. "I-I suppose I might? Let me just check the back." Standing up, their voice turns stern. "Now put that back where you found it without creasing the spine or touching the pages, if you please." 

Crowley allows themself a moment to grin goofily at the angel’s retreating back before doing as asked and then slinking back to wait at the counter. 

A small flare of a miracle from the back room and the angel is back, shooting Crowley a somewhat confused smile as they offer Crowley a cassette tape. A bloody cassette tape. Crowley accepts it, biting their lip to try and suppress the way it wants to twitch up. Eventually they manage to choke out a strangled "Cheers." 

The angel nods. "Well, if that will be all?" They glance at the door pointedly. 

Crowley hums. How does seduction work nowadays? "Yeah. Uh. Seems like I forgot my wallet though, how about instead of paying for this I take you to dinner?" Crowley's wallet is very clearly visible, partially sticking out from one of their very small front pockets. 

The angel just stares at them for a moment. And then takes the next moment to close their eyes and pinch the bridge of their nose. 

Crowley sways on their feet a bit, awkward. That was a line taken from one of the videos that'd been playing in the shop next door, but who knew how realistic that sort of thing is. 

Crowley's just starting to get really nervous when the angel looks up at them like they've just remembered something startling. Then the strangest thing happens... the angel brightens. Their whole body lights up, straightening with excited little hand flicks and they're beaming. "Oh! That sounds just lovely, pick me up here at six tonight? We’ll go to dinner! I know the perfect place." 

Crowley's jaw wants to drop and it's a force of will to keep it closed. A thrill of excitement that has nothing to do with a successful step in a mission lights up their chest. "Uh, yeah! Neat." 

They're stunned enough to not even saunter out the door, swaying along in a bazaar stumble. At the last second they giddily turn back to shoot the angel a finger gun and a grin. "Ciao." 

\---

It's not that Crowley's _nervous_ about the date, that would be ridiculous. 

By the twenty-fifth miracled outfit Crowley is forced to admit that they are in fact a deeply ridiculous creature. 

Eventually they settle on black leather pants, a blazer, a silver chain, and highlighted purple lipstick in a lighter shade than they normally go for. 

They end up ten minutes late, half on purpose and half because they were dithering over what kinds of chocolate to get. 

The bookshop is closed (unsurprisingly) and they're already knocking on the door before they start to reconsider the chocolates. Do angel's eat chocolate? The bookseller had known a place to eat off hand but do they actually enjoy it or is it something they just do to blend in? Why would Crowley even pick something food related? They can't even taste the stuff most of the time, why did they think they could judge good chocolate, what if it's awful? 

Flowers! They could have brought flowers instead, or as well, or would that be too much - 

"Oh, it's you!" 

Crowley blinks, the door is open and the angel is beaming as bright as the sun. 

"Nnnghjk." Coming to the sudden realization that they've asked someone on a date without giving their name they practically shout. "Crowley! It's Crowley, me." Very articulate. "Here." Panicked, they shove the heart shaped chocolate box into the Angel's hands. 

Crowley wouldn't think it possible for the angel to light up any more but they manage it anyway. "Oh! Oh thank you, oh these are lovely. Let me tuck them away for later and we can be on our way!"

The Angel bustles back into the shop as Crowley hovers in front of the door, unsure if they're supposed to go inside or not.

The angel saves them the decision by returning in a whirlwind of good cheer. "Oh! It's Aziraphale by the way." 

Crowley blinks and then registers the word as the angel's name. They already knew it from the file, but they hadn't been thinking of Aziraphale by name until the word came out of the angel's mouth. Until Crowley could taste the sound of it. 

Crowley repeats it carefully, testing out each syllable. "Aziraphale, then. Are we walking or driving?" 

Aziraphale frowns. "Oh, walking I do think. I never really got the hang of those contraptions, they do go awfully fast." The angel doesn't dither, marching off confidently. 

Crowley gasps in mock offence as they scurry to keep up "But that's the fun of them! Speeding away from your woes, the whoop your organs make when you turn when going at a proper speed." Crowley sighs happily. 

Aziraphale shakes their head, scrunching their face up. "My dear, that is not at all how an automobile is supposed to function and you are likely breaking several laws." 

Crowley's decorative heart does a little double thump at the _my dear_ even as they frantically try to block cars while Aziraphale blatantly jaywalks into traffic. "Hh. Hhung. Well, it's not hurting anyone isss it? Not like mortality's governed by laws. Tons of laws were made specifically so powerful people could fuck over everyone else." 

"True." Aziraphale draws the word out like they're testing it. “Though I’m sure that hardly applies to speed limits. Vehicular homicide is horrifyingly common from what I hear." The angel flapps a hand dismissively. "And regardless, in a _general_ sense we need laws to provide structure in society! Just because some are less than ideal doesn't render the whole system immoral. Even the unfair laws are often best followed, if only to keep the peace." 

Crowley shakes their head, shooting apologetic looks at the people who have to quickly move out of Aziraphale's way. "Oh, that's bollocks that is. I mean not the speed limit thing, the laws in general thing. It's not just a bit here and there! There’s a big, _huge_ , percent of legal and political power structures built on the wants of the wealthy instead of the wellbeing of normal blokes." Crowley makes a frustrated noise spinning a finger around in a whirlpool-like motion in some sort of attempt to indicate the structure of the world around them. "That doesn't lead to anything good, there are a lot of places that could use a good overthrow if you ask me. Break it down and remake it from a different perspective." 

Aziraphale fumbles in their brisk walk, shooting Crowley a look of surprise, and something oddly close to shyness from someone so confident. After the hesitation they start up again. "That is in no way realistic action! And would end in much more death and suffering than working to change the system from the inside." 

Crowley groans. "Death and suffering yeah, but just a different kind than what's happening already. Just look at _America._ " Crowley spits the word out with all the indignation they possess. “The way their healthcare system is structured kills tons of people! That's murder, that is. People always forget about that. Greed kills and rich humans are full of it. The richest ones are mostly murderers, they just don't think they are because they don't have to look at the poor buggers they're stabbing." 

Aziraphale hums in a way that Crowley is pretty sure is the closest the angel is going to get to admitting that Crowley has a point. "But what do you propose should be done about it? I hope you're not suggesting more French Revolutions? That was _completely_ horrifying." 

Crowley throws their hands up in the air, animated. "It was! More hu- people being awful to each other, but you have to remember that the murders didn't start with the aristocrats. Every person who starved to death who didn't have to was murdered." Crowley pauses to contemplate for a second. "And I hear they have pretty decent labor laws now."

Crowley has stopped trying to non-verbally apologize to pedestrians because they can't tear their eyes away from Aziraphale's face. Even as the angel opens their mouth in horror at the borderline pro French Revolution sentiment they look so incredibly happy, as if they're delighted to be here talking to Crowley. And even as Crowley throws themself indignantly into each argument, the demon can truly say that they feel the same. 

\---

By the time they get to the restaurant they've somehow gotten to the topic of existence in general and Crowley barely registers that they're walking into a sushi bar and sitting down. 

Gesturing wildly Crowley reiterates their point. "It just doesn't make sense though, does it? How did anything just... start existing?" 

Aziraphale looks at Crowley like the demon just asked why pigs fly. "Well my dear, it stands to reason that God made everything." 

Crowley waves that off. "Yeah, yeah obviously. But what made God? How did sh- did they just, _exist_ all of a sudden? Are there more gods with their own universes? Did God come from something else? And even if God did, how did- I mean you can spiral this back as far as you like but it still doesn't explain how any of this exists." Crowley gestures to the room. "Doesn't make sense, is all I'm saying." 

Aziraphale looks a mix of horrified and fascinated. "I don't think... well that is all so much bigger than us, should we really question it? I don't suppose it really matters to our everyday lives, does it?" 

Crowley snaps their fingers. "Point. I'll give you the everyday lives thing even if I don't agree with not questioning things." 

They have to pause their discussion as a server greets Aziraphale by name and takes their orders. Aziraphale lists off several dishes, the amount of which reassures Crowley that the angel actually does like food and might truthfully appreciate the chocolates. 

Aziraphale's face sinks into guilt when Crowley doesn’t ask for any food, just tea and sake. Once the server leaves they speak hesitantly. "Apologies. I should have told you where we were going, we can go somewhere else if you aren't fond of sushi?" 

Crowley shakes their head, embarrassed. "Restricted diet, nowhere you could bring me where I could eat much. Anyway, I'm here for the company and alcohol." Crowley winks.

Aziraphale nods, looking a bit reassured if not completely guilt free. 

Awkward first date silence stretches between them before Aziraphale's gaze goes distant and concerned. "Oh dear, if reality wasn't really, well, supposed to happen... do you think that black holes might be the universe's way of restoring order?" 

Crowley throws their hands up in the air. "Well if there was a team of angels creating the cosmos their lot sure didn't make them!" 

\---

"Ok ok, but it’ss, it’sss like the black holes, right?" 

Aziraphale squints at Crowley over their third piece of cake as they pour themself another glass of wine, looking like they're trying to connect the dots of the conversation. "The economy?" 

"Hhhhnnn, nuh uh -" Crowley squints in confusion. They are rather gloriously drunk at this point and really should have remembered that they can't sober up in front of the angel. " _America_ again, rich like, talk bout stim - stimulate - making the economy better. But they're the reason iz doesn't work!” Crowley scowls. “The- the boss bank should be controlling inflation by making all the little bankss owe it money. But it doesn't work! Because…” Crowley pauses to think for a moment, mouth still moving as they mull over the fuzzy concept they’re trying to express. “Just a few people have so much invisible money that they're not ssssssspen - sspend, uh, using - not using and circulating through the economy that it doesn't work right!" Crowley splays their hands out in frustration. "You know?" 

Aziraphale has that dopey smile and bright eyes they've been treating Crowley to more and more frequently. "Heavens, why the interest in America?" The angel hums. "And honestly, dear, I had no idea. But it does make sense, in its own nonsensical way." 

Crowley relaxes, they were worried that they were being completely incomprehensible. 

Crowley and Aziraphale have been dating for around three weeks now, meeting up every day to go out to eat, see plays, and take walks in the park. Crowley assumes that what the humans call the honeymoon period is in full effect, considering how ecstatic they feel in Aziraphale's company. 

They like the angel a ridiculous amount already, and have somewhat casually decided to ditch their mission and start bullshitting some fake info that Hell can't check up on. 

But it's been... good. Really good, actually. Aziraphale is smart and enthusiastic, swinging between bastardry, hedonism, and genuine kindness. Crowley finds themself trying to estimate how long this could last, hoping that something might be salvaged if Crowley tells Aziraphale what they are. If they tell the angel that despite the true reason behind their meeting Crowley is falling hard and fast. 

Crowley knows, realistically, that any trust built between them will be gone after that reveal. That Crowley will have to do it in a public place and be ready to run, have accounts set up and plane tickets ready. Crowley knows that if this turns into something more serious that they'll tell Aziraphale anyway. 

Aziraphale blinks like they're coming back to themself and glances around. "Oh dear, it has gotten rather late hasn't it?" The angel looks a bit disappointed. "I suppose we should head off for the night." 

Crowley groans something that sounds a bit like a denial, and then shrugs despondently. Aziraphale is right even if neither of them _really_ need to sleep. 

Aziraphale chuckles fondly and pats Crowley's hand. "Come on dear, you shouldn't drive like this, I’ll call you a cab." 

Crowley pouts and then in a stroke of drunken inspiration, brightens. "Come back to mine? Wass it called, night hat?" There's probably some sober reason why this is a bad idea but sober things are for sober Crowley to deal with in the morning. 

Inexplicably Aziraphale stiffens, expression going from bright to inscrutable. And then, in a cautious voice. "Ah. Your place?"

Crowley blinks at the angel, trying to figure out the change in demeanor before the demon’s eyes widen in panicked embarrassment. "Not for that!" 

Aziraphale's odd expression melts into confusion. "For that?" 

Crowley's mouth flaps for a second as they unsuccessfully try and regain some semblance of sobriety. "Sex! I mean, not for that. I mean. I'm drunk and that's not good, and also kind of indifferent to the whole thing." Crowley's very embarrassing mouth keeps going. "I mean not that- we could definitely talk about your expectations, and I might enjoy doing stuff to you, I just don't really like it the other way round and- " Oh god they're still in the restaurant and Crowley is talking way too loud and Aziraphale is turning a mortified shade of red and who thought it was a good idea to unleash Crowley on the earth. 

Aziraphale snaps and the humans who'd turned to stare at Crowley turn away in disinterest. Humiliated, Crowley covers their face with both hands. 

When Aziraphale speaks they sound deeply embarrassed. "Ah. Well... no. That was not my concern, I apologize for the confusion.” There’s an awkward pause that Crowley can’t find it in themselves to fill. “You are right we really should talk about this while less inebriated, though for the record I would rather prefer to not engage in- ” The angel cuts themself off. "But, um, yes I could go home with you, responsible thing anyhow, with you being inebriated." The angel has obviously been sobering themself up and Crowley is so jealous. 

Despite the embarrassment making Crowley want to turn into a snake to bury themself in sand the demon finds themself grinning. Their hands lowering as they look up at Aziraphale. "Really?" 

Aziraphale shifts, they're expression still odd. Crowley thinks they might look a bit… scared? Which just serves to make Crowley uncertain again. 

After a moment Aziraphale gives Crowley a tight smile "Of course. I'll call us a cab." 

The cab ride is oddly tense and Crowley keeps on vacillating between trying to figure out how they messed up and bubbly drunken contentment. 

"So, Ah." Crowley's attention snaps back as the angel speaks. "Have you lived in London long?" 

Crowley hums, eyebrows scrunching. "Mmmmnn... yeah. Ninety or so years?" Crowley blinks… wait. "No uh, not right." Drunk in a taxi cab is not how Crowley should break the whole demon thing, even if lying directly to Aziraphale makes them uncomfortable. "Uuuuhhmm, how old am I?" They look at Aziraphale beseechingly. 

Aziraphale looks startled. "90 years? Really, I wonder why I never- " and then they cut themself off with a blink and answer Crowley's question with surprising seriousness. "Oh I believe I would pin you somewhere between late 40s early 50s." 

Crowley nods. "Mmm, like ten years then? I guess." Sounds plausible. 

Crowley feels like there's something odd about this interaction but before they can try and figure it out the cab has pulled up in front of the sleek building and Aziraphale is helping Crowley stagger out. "Up we go now, there's a dear." 

Crowley giddily takes Aziraphale's hand as they go up the stairs to Crowley's apartment4 and the next thing they know they’re back in their flat and Aziraphale is also there and _Aziraphale is in their flat._

Aziraphale is also looking around with a horrified expression on their face. "My dear... you live like this?" 

Crowley squints at their flat in confusion. It’s the same as it always is. Minimalist style with a large tv, wildly uncomfortable leather couch, randomly placed throne. Taking their glasses off Crowley squints again to see if anything's changed. Nope. 

Oh Satan, this place is a nightmare. 

A string of panicked syllables leave Crowley's mouth before they're able to articulate. "They check up! Don’t even like it. Not my fault if they check up- " Crowley feels dizzy. 

"Well, anyway!" Aziraphale cuts Crowley off with a clap, looking at the demon with some amalgam of second hand embarrassment and exasperation. 

Crowley gets the vague impression that they're doing something wrong here, swaying for a moment as they try to think of what people normally do at this point. "Hhhnn uhh, tour?" Crowley points at the kitchen. "Kitchen." And then stumbles to the other rooms without checking if the angel is following. 

Aziraphale gasps softly as they enter the plant room. 

Crowley gestures at the plants. "Plants. Use them in place of a therapist, therapists jus' uhh -" Crowley gives an even vaguer gesture. "Disappear so fast ya'know... poof." Crowley mimes the poof then considers for a moment. "And they just say things like _'generalized anxiety disorder' 'post traumatic stress'_ and _'have you considered meditation?'_ " Crowley pats a rubber plant. "S' I just yell at plants a lot." 

God, sober Crowley is going to be so embarrassed. Drunk Crowley finds that somewhat funny and starts giggling at sober Crowley's expense. 

Aziraphale is giving them the oddest look again, bamboozled confusion that has started to get mixed in with something incredibly fond. "Dearest, I do believe that we must get you to bed post haste. Before you reveal anything else that would best be discussed while sober." 

\---

Crowley wakes up without a hangover, tucked in, and wearing pajamas. There's a cup of water on the nightstand. They only have blurry memories of the night before but they get the sense that they should be feeling a lot of embarrassment over drunk Crowley's behavior. 

\---

The alley is grimy and smells strongly of piss. 

"What have you learned so far?" 

"Ok guys I know this sounds ridiculous, but the Archangel Gabriel has started wearing a thong." 

"He _WHAT?_ " 

"I know, I know. Apparently he got confused reading a report from earth, thinks it's the height of fashion." 

"Good work, Crowley. Beelzebub will be pleased." 

\---

Three months is such a short amount of time. Crowley cannot believe that they're doing this, a sacrifice that they reasonably should only make at a hypothetical twelfth marriage anniversary. 

"Now my dear you are just being dramatic at this point, Hamlet is a classic!" 

"It's boooring, angel! Not even funny, just a bunch of sad people moping around on stage being awful to each other, don't we get enough of that in real life?" 

Aziraphale places a hand over their heart in outrage. "It's deep!" 

Crowley scoffs. "As a kiddie pool, sure." 

Then Aziraphale blinks, a familiar expression of confusion clouding their face. "Wait." 

"Wot?" Crowley blinks back from behind their sunglasses. 

The angel's brow furrows "What did you just call me?"

"What?" Crowley thinks for a moment and then flushes. "Angel. You know. Pet name." 

Aziraphale pinches the bridge of their nose. _"Honestly_ , my dear, sometimes I don't know if you are the smartest or most idiotic person I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with." 

Crowley squeeks in affront. "What’s _that_ supposed to mean?" 

Aziraphale just pats Crowley's cheek. "Never you mind." Then they brighten. "Come along, I would quite like to get there before all of the good seats are taken!" 

It’s going to suck when this angel hates them.

\---

"No, no I'm serious. Uriel absolutely shagged her way through a poetry competition. _Very_ susceptible to lust that one, get her a smart girl who can spit her emotions into a mic and you've got her."5

The pale rabbit demon widens their eyes in surprise before nodding thoughtfully. "You know what, that checks out now that I think about it. She just has that energy, you know?" 

Crowley nods solemnly.

\---

Conversation has lulled and Aziraphale is slumped back in their armchair looking pleasantly buzzed. As the soft silence stretches something sharp enters their eyes, their mouth twitching down. 

Crowley sits up from their comfortable sprawl, concerned. "Everything alright, angel?" 

Aziraphale plasters on a bright, obviously fake smile. "Of course, my dear." They pause for a moment, smile trembling just a bit. "Did I ever tell you that I have a supervisor? For my second job, book repair, you know." They're baring their teeth more than smiling now. "Well I found out the most _interesting_ bit of gossip about him the other day, he -" 

"Uh!" Crowley interrupts, stomach bottoming out. How much less believable is their eventual _'Oh this started as a temptation but I fell in love with you, run away with me!'_ speech going to be if they actually get intel on Aziraphale's bosses? "Actually! Uh." Crowley tries to think of a conversation topic that will be worth cutting the angel off. "I was thinking about reading a book!" 

Aziraphale blinks, mouth open and shock clear on their face. "A -" the angel bites their lower lip looking on the verge of tears. "A book?" 

"Yeah!" Crowley's always been a sympathetic crier and they're glad for their glasses as their own eyes start to burn. Satan, that was so rude, speaking over what Aziraphale wanted to talk about, they're making the angel _cry._ "A-a classic book, like the ones you're always on at me about." Crowley gulps. "But I didn't mean! I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm sorry, if you want to - if you want to talk about your boss that's f-fine." 

Aziraphale's mouth is still open, they close it with a swallow. "N-no. This is -" they brighten, eyes still overbright but genuinely happy. "This is far more important! I have a list of suggestions already prepared, using your pre-existing interests to ease you in. And I found a few with just the most lovely voice actors!" 

Crowley relaxes in relief, and then suppresses a groan as they realize what they just agreed to. 

\---

Considering all of Crowley's dramatic angsting over messing this up, it's a genuine surprise that when everything goes to shit it’s not actually their fault. 

1\. Not one of theirs but whoever came up with the things deserves a commendation. [ ▲ ]

2\. Including a decrepit adult video store, a feat which Crowley finds impressive. [ ▲ ]

3\. I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 AM. perhaps 10AM. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1. Except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30 PM, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some night reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank Mondays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays.

(For Sundays see Tuesdays)

A. Z. Fell, Bookseller [ ▲ ]

4\. The elevator of Crowley's apartment complex being broken is not actually their fault, unless you count the elevator having a personal vendetta against them for that time with the goats as their fault. [ ▲ ]

5\. According to Wikipedia Uriel is an angel of repentance, art, and poetry. [ ▲ ]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Someone gets stabbed

It's Hastur and Ligur this time, lurking in an abandoned mausoleum.

Crowley's spine crawls in discomfort, they do _not_ like interacting with demons who actually kill people1. 

"Crowley." Ligur's face reveals nothing.

Crowley plasters on a smirk, suppressing a shiver. "Hey guys. You will not _believe_ what I found out about Sandalphon." 

Hastur interrupts. "Sod that. The mission's changed." 

Crowley frowns. "What do you mean? I've been getting good information and it's barely been a year. I'm getting reassigned already?" 

Ligur smirks. It’s not a nice smirk, not even a charming one. "Not exactly. You still have a grand finale to perform with your little angel." 

Crowley's gut starts sinking.

Hastur grins, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Jurisdiction’s changed hands. Beelzebub’s been overworked so ze delegated some shit to Sekiro." 

That's already considerably worse than being reassigned, Sekiro is not known for being particularly reasonable. "So the mission's changed?" 

Ligur flicks a hand and suddenly he’s holding a knife, a dark curved blade that shines like an oil spill. 

Crowley cuts off an undignified squeaky noise and tries not to look too freaked out. 

Hastur grins. "Sekiro doesn't like angels running around if we have an operative close enough to off them. Sends a message, doesn't it?" 

Ligur smirks. "Sends a threat." 

Crowley's hands clench, they can feel sweat start to prick at their back. "Really guys? This angel’s a blabbermouth! Stabbing a stooge is a waste when they're giving us information on the executives. Trust me.” Crowley attempts a wider, more confident smirk. “They’ll give us a leg up in the war." 

Hastur scoffs. "It's the mission, not like we're the ones you have to convince." 

Ligur hands Crowley the knife, a glint in his eyes. "Just make this easy on yourself. Stabbing is easy." 

Crowley splutters. The handle of the blade sends a zing up their arm, the hellfire it was forged in humming. They resist the urge to chuck it. 

Ending the interaction with a stilted _'Hail Satan’_ they hurry out of the building.

Hastur’s right. They're talking to the wrong people. 

\---

"I've gotten good intel from the angel! I can keep getting good intel from them, it's a bloody waste is what it is." 

Beelzebub groans, pinching the bridge of zir nose. "I don't disagree, that thing about Gabriel was hilarious. But it is literally not my problem anymore. Take it up with Sekiro." They hesitate for a moment and then offer up a bit of advice. "The prat is vindictive, so you might want to offer to stab someone else."

\---

"Listen! If you want me to stab an angel let me take on one of the bigwigs. The little bookshop one gives me hints on their weaknesses and next thing you know-" Crowley makes vigorous stabbing motion2.

Sekiro glares from his throne. "And you think you can win against an archangel you little ash-crawler? You come to _me_ with this drivel when you're in bed with a feather-duster that you can get rid of _tonight_ as a warning to all the others. A warning that will strike fear in them, make them _piss_ themselves?" 

Crowley doesn't even see Sekiro move the demon is so fast. They just register the pain as their back slams into the concrete wall, the other demon's eyes inches from Crowley's face, burning with hatred. 

The demon growls. "Either the angel dies, or you do, and I make your broken corporation human enough to nail to their door." 

Well. Well, yeah. Alright then.

"I'll, uh. Ghhhggh. I'll get on that stabbing then." Crowley squeaks. 

\---

"Ok so, listen. We can go off together! You and me! I know that sounds crazy but I love you. We can do this, if we hide well enough no one has to get stabbed or disenbowled at all!" 

Crowley turns to a polka-dot plant. "How does that sound?" Crowley waits expectantly for a moment. "Ok yeah I hear you, completely ridiculous is how it sounds, I understand. Thanks for being honest." 

Crowley continues the frantic pacing they've been wearing into the floor for the last hour. "How about _‘Hey angel, I'm a demon and I'm on a mission to seduce you but now they want me to stab you and that really isn't my scene so how about we fake our own deaths?’_ A whole murder suicide type deal!" 

Crowley clicks their fingers excitedly. "That's it! Or!" Crowley shoots a finger-gun at a row of purple waffle plants. "If Aziraphale’s peeved about me being a demon and gets all smitey I can just be like _'Oh darn. Tried to stab them and got smitten into next week. Strong angel right there, real go-getter.'_ " 

Crowley wrinkles their nose. "Peeved? Good Lord, I am spending too much time with Aziraphale." 

Crowley freezes, horrified. _"Good Lord?!"_

\---

Unfortunately, Crowley doesn't get to say any of that because on the third day of procrastination in the form of avoiding both Aziraphale and electronic devices they wake up to a knife in the shoulder. 

This is always an unfortunate way to wake up and they respond like any sensible person would, shrieking bloody murder as they try to kick anything even remotely close to them away. 

Ligur responds with a soft grunt as a scaly foot hits his stomach, and pulls the knife out. 

The removal of the knife doesn't do Crowley any favors. They have the delirious thought of asking Ligur to put it back in, images of wikipedia articles on keeping objects that have stabbed you in to prevent excessive blood loss flashing before their eyes. Luckily the reality of what Ligur putting it back in would look like catches up to them in time. 

After a good ten seconds of screaming Crowley decides to switch to words. "What the Fuck?! What the Fuck? Why, why the bloody shit, I'm bleeding. Oh no, that is . . ." Crowley touches the wound and stares at the blood on their fingers before gagging. ". . . that is a lot of blood." 

The somewhat watery image of Ligur shrugs. 

"You were taking too long." Hastur grunts from the doorway.

"At _what?_ " Crowley shreaks. If it was at waking up they are never sleeping again, six-hundred count sheets be risen. 

"The angel." Ligur gives Crowley a half-lidded smile. "Sekiro thinks you've gone soft on them."

Crowley tries to reach for some lie, some excuse that would probably be easy to spin if they hadn't just been stabbed. 

They come up with nothing. 

They then deliriously note that they have the gifted knife under their pillow for safekeeping.

A clumsy hit with the pommel of the dark blade clonks Ligur’s knife hand, likely only successful because of the element of surprise. Unfortunately, after a moment of shock in which Crowley scrambles for Ligur’s dropped knife, Ligur swipes at Crowley with a second blade. The swipe scores a line into Crowley’s arm and has them yowling and bolting for the door. 

Hastur is at the door and with a panicked screech of “Traitor!” socks Crowley in the stomach. 

Crowley twists away from the punch with a soft “Oof” and presses back against the doorframe, trying to knee Hastur in the crotch. A move that would have been much more effective if Hastur actually had anything there, and in reality results in Crowley being knocked to the floor of the hallway. 

This turns out to be a blessing because even as Hastur aims a kick at Crowley the demon is already scrambling down the hall, shoving the black knife into the back of their trousers. 

The following chase is a scrambled mess, Crowley bouncing off walls as they skitter down the stairs with Hastur and Ligur on their tail. Shooting out the front doors into the rain Crowley makes for an alley hoping to get lost in the twists and turns of Mayfair. 

They might have even made it if, dizzy with pain, they hadn’t slipped in a puddle. 

Hastur’s on them in an instant, hauling them up and slamming them into a wall, practically frothing at the mouth. 

Kicking Hastur in the stomach and managing to wiggle away from the hold Crowley says, somewhat hysterically, “This is workplace harassment!” And then after a moment of thought and a hasty dodge away from Ligur that earns them another bloody line on their arm, “You can tell Beelzebub that I’m turning in my two weeks notice!”

Ligur scowls “Harassment? Seems like you’re harassing us by refusing to do your job.” Ligur gets a few more stinging slashes in with the knife as Crowley howls and Hastur rubs at his own stomach grumpily. 

Driven by a wild kind of adrenaline Crowley bolts again, ignoring the two other demons’ curses. 

Weaving through alleyways Crowley, on instinct more than thought, heads for the only place they can think of. Aziraphale’s wards extend to the space of about three houses’ length from the angel’s home. Crowley doesn’t see Hastur and Ligur crash into them but they do hear the loud thwap and Hastur’s furious scream. 

Crowley doesn’t stop to look, crashing through the bookshop door in a whirlwind of blood and panic. Crowley then immediately regrets every decision they’ve ever made that has led them to this one very very bad choice. And not just because their glasses are broken in an alley somewhere and a very startled Aziraphale can see their eyes. 

Because Hastur and Ligur are going to try and get in. 

_"Fuck."_

The full understanding of what Crowley is and why they've wiggled themself into the angel’s life has clearly not registered because Aziraphale is currently looking perplexed and concerned instead of angry and betrayed as they put their book down and start to stand. "Crowley, what's -" 

Crowley doesn't bother listening to the rest of the question, they'll take as much time as the angel's confusion will allow as the things they have to do slot in place. Reaching out their senses they start babbling. "Wait, wait wait wait, I'm gonna leave, I promise I just gotta, first, I gotta-" And, hoping the angel isn't going to use physical force to try and stop them Crowley bolts for the tapestry that feels like the center of the wards.

Hastily discarding the picture Crowley examines the runes and gets to work, using some of the blood dribbling down their arm to add to the network of spells3. Threading their own power into the general structure and then starting on more specific ones, incorporating the sigils of demons that they consider the most immediate threats. Trying to ignore the time limit of how long the angel will just stand by and let this happen.

"You're . . ." the angel sounds flabbergasted and even knowing it was coming Crowley flinches at the accusation in that tone. But what comes out of Aziraphale's mouth isn't at all what they were expecting. "You're _hurt!_ " 

Crowley's shaking now, adding the last lines to Beelzebub's sigil before looking up at the angel. The angel who looks shocked and upset, but not angry. 

"Eyes!" Crowley blurts, gesturing at the slit pupils, if Aziraphale hadn't noticed then they should probably have just bolted, but the thought of the angel thinking their human friend just disappeared after bursting into their shop bleeding and then bursting right back out again is somehow worse than the already horrible truth. 

Aziraphale's brows furrow and they open their mouth, concern still etched on their face. 

Crowley shakes their head woozily, glancing at the wards. That's the best they can do in the short timeframe. They have to _go._

They've stumbled halfway to the door, shoes slip-sliding on blood, before the angel's hand is on their elbow, grip like iron. "You are _not_ leaving right now." 

Oh. 

Oh no, of course they aren't. 

Crowley slumps and closes their eyes, nodding like a bobble head, unable to stop even as Aziraphale firmly leads them over to the couch in the back room, sitting them down. 

They're shaking, and woozy, and in pain.

And then Aziraphale's fingers are on the buttons of their shirt. Undoing them briskly, and when Crowley snaps their eyes open they can see that the expression on the angel's face is focused, a small frown playing at their mouth. 

Crowley doesn't want to talk, Crowley wants to curl up and pretend that none of this is happening. But Aziraphale must want them to talk, to explain. Crowley wouldn't still be here if the angel didn't want answers. 

First things first though and Crowley fumbles the knife from the back of their pants and offers it to the angel, handle first.

Aziraphale doesn't even acknowledge the blade until all of Crowley's buttons are undone, and the expression on their face when they carefully accept it is honest confusion. 

Crowley doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. 

Aziraphale just stares at the blade. "Ah. Hmm." That seems to be all they have to say on the matter because they place it on their desk and then immediately return to stripping Crowley's coat off. 

When Aziraphale reaches for the shoulder wound with a purpose Crowley can't stop themself from flinching back as their breathing starts to come in panicked huffs. Aziraphale's hand freezes and Crowley jumps on the moment, trying to plead their case. "Now! Now as much fun as I'm sure this is going to be for both of us, how about we speed things up a bit?" 

Seeing that they have the angel's still completely perplexed attention, they forge on. "What if we just skip right over the part where you pry those open, and get to the bit where I tell you anything you want to know!" 

Aziraphale stares at the demon for another moment and then explodes. "For god's sake Crowley I'm not going to _torture_ you!" Crowley is still trying to process that, when Aziraphale immediately reveals themself to be a liar by placing a hand over the shoulder wound and lighting it up with Holy energy. 

As soon as Crowley is fully aware that they're screaming they clap a hand over their mouth to silence it, curling up on the couch as tears soak into the upholstery. 

They're not going to plead, they're going to take it, and whenever the angel is done they'll tell them whatever they want to know. 

Coming to this resolution doesn't stop the panicked huffs of breath as they brace for the next explosion of pain. 

The next pressure on the wound doesn't come with a flash of light but instead with the press of a cloth pad, and Crowley realizes that Aziraphale is babbling. "-- so _so_ sorry! I should have realized that wouldn't work, I won't do it again, I promise, I won't, I didn't mean to -" 

The idea of Aziraphale apologizing to _Crowley_ right now is awful in a completely different way than the idea of torture. 

Crowley's brain is too frazzled to stop themself from reaching a hand forward to hook a few fingers into the side of Aziraphale's soft gray cardigan. 

Aziraphale doesn't seem to notice, still babbling, as they miracle supplies to treat the rest of the slashes in the human way, disinfectant, bandages, an unfortunately intimidating needle and thread, and medical tape. 

Time hazes out for a bit as the angel works. At some point Crowley opens their eyes and realizes that tears have started to slip down Aziraphale's face. 

Forget about Hell wanting Crowley dead, _this_ is the worst thing in the world. 

It takes a few tries for Crowley to speak, pain and confusion making everything cloudy. "'Zriphale, azzir, angel it’ss ok." Crowley curls the rest of their fingers into the angel's coat as Aziraphale finally turns to look at them, still dressing the wounds at a brisk pace. 

Crowley struggles with what they want to say, they don't think Aziraphale would believe an apology, or a love confession. Those types of things tend to run hollow when you've just been discovered as a spy and you're now completely at the mercy of your target. 

But Aziraphale's upset so Crowley tries to cobble together the things they're probably upset about in their increasingly incapacitated brain.

"It’sss ok, you didn't hurt me." That's a very obvious lie but it is one thing that seems to be upsetting them. Brain switching tracks, Crowley reassures. "Won't be able to get in now, following me, mm sorry" Crowleg reasons that that's apologizing for leading other demons to the bookshop, not for the seduction, and therefore doesn't count. 

Aziraphale opens their mouth, then closes it, pausing their work to very gently squeeze the hand fisted into their cardigan before turning back to taping down a gauze pad. 

Crowley stares at the angel hazily for a moment before remembering something. "You can! Can add mine to it if I'm still slithering round when you're done, got it, 'll give it to you." Crowley scrawls their sigil in the air, letting the fiery lines hang before slumping back onto the couch with a huff. 

Through the dizziness Crowley sees Aziraphale's destress turn into some sort of frustrated bewilderment before the angel hurriedly flaps at the air, dispersing the fiery sigil before giving the bit of medical tape a last pat and getting up to flop back into their regular armchair, staring at Crowley. 

Crowley blinks at the angel, and then looks down at their own side. The left sleeve of their shirt had been taken off so they have a clear view of the neat cotton pads taped over each of the smaller slashes. There isn't one over the place where the stab wound was, instead there's some sort of shiny salve slathered over a handprint shaped burn.

Crowley gulps, too woozy and overstimulated to fight back the feeling at the back of their throat or the way their eyes are starting to get overly wet. They want to sit up to look straight at Aziraphale to face whatever is coming next but instead Crowley is swamped by how yawning and unreal the room feels. Now that they're less distracted the pain is almost unbearable, and to add insult to injury it's getting colder by the minute. Crowley wonders if they're still snake enough to go into tupor. 

Crowley covers their eyes with the trembling hand from the non stabbed side and, to their shame, starts crying their eyes out. The experience is extremely embarrassing for everyone involved. 

After a few minutes of very loud sobbing Crowley registers that Aziraphale is kneeling on the floor, awkwardly hovering their hands near Crowley as they make panicked little shooshing noises and _'there theres'._

It's just such an Aziraphale thing to do. Aziraphale’s panicked expression, the one that reminds Crowley of the time the angel had tripped and gotten ice cream all over someone’s handbag. Something about it makes the end of Crowley's crying spell bubble into high pitched laughter, increasing the look of horror on Aziraphale's face. 

Struggling to sit up Crowley wipes tears and snot off their face with their remaining sleeve, trying to ignore how badly their hand is shaking. "K. Alright." Crowley points to their own eyes. "Demon. Was sent t-to -" Crowley gulps, wetly. "Seduce you. ‘M so-" crowley cuts themself off. They won't make an apology that won’t be believed. "What do you want to know?"

Aziraphale blinks up at them from where they're still kneeling on the floor4 before throwing up their hands and shrieking “ _Why_ are you covered in knife wounds, Crowley?!"

Crowley flinches back with a soft grunt and blinks. That is not what they were expecting, but they feel their eyes filling up anyway. "W-wanted-" Crowley sucks in a breath, biting their lip before reluctantly starting up the waterworks all over again as they sob, "T-they wanted me to stab you, big bloody knife there you go, pop a-along." 

Aziraphale goes pale, hands still hovering awkwardly. "Well. Well that, that's rather outside of the regular." Aziraphale bites their lower lip which has started to wobble. "You refused?"

Crowley nods, hurriedly wiping their eyes. "Once I had run out of lies and they were already stabbing me with their own knives, yeah. Might have told them I was putting in two weeks notice too, after the first couple punches from Hastur." An injured Crowley trying and failing to use a knife still blabbers like a regular Crowley. Then they blink. "You're not, uh, very surprised." A suspicion is rising in the back of Crowley's mind5.

Aziraphale claps a hand over their mouth at the two weeks notice bit to hide a laugh and then pulls it away, looking exasperated. "Surprised that you're a demon, or surprised that you managed to be ridiculous even while attempts at your life were being carried out?" 

Crowley gasps, attempting to point at Aziraphale with their bad arm and then screeching and using the other one. "You knew I was a demon!" 

Aziraphale performs a rather impressive eye roll. "Oh, did I?" They hum. "Now what could have led me to that conclusion?” They pretend to think. “Surely not the fact that you kept telling me bits of age old personal trivia while drunk! Or that you use She for God when the common vernacular is He. Or the fact that you aren't even wearing the aura dampening body spray, though admittedly that smell on someone middle aged would be telling enough on its own. Or, hmm, could it be that I kept having to miracle your contacts back in?" 

Aziraphale claps their hands together a gleeful smile taking over a face still wet with tears. "Oh this is fun. Despite the circumstances it is cathartic to inform you of just how preposterous your human charade was." 

Crowley, who had just been starting to tentatively smile with the humor in Aziraphale's voice, feels that last line like a punch to the gut. So Aziraphale was playing their own game. For Heaven probably, a game that hasn't ended with the roaring tide of affection Crowley feels. 

Aziraphale hadn't even liked them as a human. 

Crowley must be making some kind of face because Aziraphale suddenly looks guilty. "Don't get me wrong! It wasn't all easy to see through! You are terribly convincing at making someone want to be around you, making them feel special and cared for, very - ur, demonic of you." 

Oh, oh that's worse, Aziraphale thinking that this was all a game _Crowley_ was playing the whole time, that they were playing against each other. Crowley closes their eyes for a moment, tears still sluggishly leaking down their face, they refuse to start sobbing again. 

Eventually they clear their throat, eyes still squeezed shut. "Why, uh, why go along with it then?" 

Aziraphale doesn't speak for a long time. Long enough that Crowley opens their eyes to look at them. The angel is beet red. "Angel?" 

Aziraphale mumbles something, avoiding Crowley's eyes.

Crowley frowns. "Didn't catch that." 

Turning their gaze upward, blush creeping down their neck Aziraphale admits. "Well if you must know, it was the dinners." 

Crowley blinks. "The wot?" 

Aziraphale throws their hands up in the air. "The dinners! Or well, the shows. Do you know how awkward it is to go out and do things like that on your own? Oh and the gifts, don't get me wrong yours have been the best by far, but a few of the others at least figured out chocolate when I pointed it out plainly enough." 

The angel and demon stare at each other, Aziraphales face managing to get even redder as the silence stretches. 

Crowley is absolutely, completely, in love. 

With an idiot. 

1\. Killing and possession have fallen out of fashion since a study done by DR revealed that they don’t actually increase numbers downstairs and have negative psychological effects on the demons involved. [ ▲ ]

2\. A stabbing motion that Crowley realizes looks a bit questionable halfway in, but has already committed to. [ ▲ ]

3\. Also fighting not to vomit but that bit is hardly worth mentioning. [ ▲ ]

4\. Crowley has the absurd urge to pet their fluffy hair. [ ▲ ]

5\. A suspicion that one might call overdue. [ ▲ ]


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley comes back to themself with a start and realizes the angel has been waving their hand three inches in front of their face.

Aziraphale frowns. "Oh dear. Well we better get you warmed up and bundled off to bed. I have blankets in the back that I can miracle warm." 

Crowley blinks stupidly. "Bed?" 

Aziraphale’s frown deepens "I don't sleep, but I do have one. I'm not going to make you sleep on the couch." 

Crowley shakes their head more out of confusion than denial. "You're letting me stay?" 

Aziraphale looks startled and then to Crowley's surprise runs a hand through the demon’s hair, something soft in their eyes. "Yes." 

Crowley can only shake and stare up at Aziraphale. "Why?" 

Aziraphale smiles crookedly. "My dear, you decided to risk quite a lot in order to avoid inflicting bodily harm to my person. It would be remiss of me to send you out injured and in danger." 

Crowley is very, very tired. The urge to take the offer hovers within reach. "You believe me?" 

Aziraphale looks at them for a long time before answering. "I probably shouldn't.” They exhale. “Heaven certainly wouldn’t approve." Something bitter twists on the angel’s face. "But I think that in just the last few hundred years I've interacted with more demons than I ever have with angels, in the six-thousand years I’ve been on earth." 

Crowley starts at that, they had no idea that Aziraphale had been here that long. 

Aziraphale absently runs their fingers through Crowley’s hair again. "I haven't met many demons who are good liars. And, while you might be the best I- " Aziraphale pauses, taking a breath. "I don't think that kindness is something you could have faked so thoroughly. I don't think you want to hurt anyone, not really. Rile them up maybe, but- " Aziraphale’s smile quirks. "Stabbing doesn't really seem like your 'scene'." 

Crowley sniffs, blinking back tears. "Not kind, me. Nasty piece of work I am.” And then they squint at Aziraphale. "You've been on earth since the beginning? I’ve been here since the garden, how have we not run into each other before?" 

Aziraphale hums, looking a little puzzled themself. "Large world I suppose." And then their gaze sharpens as Crowley shivers again. "But let us get to know each other better after you get some rest." 

Aziraphale ends up needing to half carry Crowley up to bed since the demon is too dizzy to navigate the stars. The painkillers the angel precures are a bit vintage but Crowley is grateful for them anyway, dropping into a very deep sleep as soon as they kick in. 

***

Aziraphale insists that Crowley stay after the demon wakes up. Pointing out that Crowley is both too injured and in too much trouble with Hell to leave. “The wards will be perfectly adequate at keeping any riff-raff out, thank you very much.” 

So Crowley just... stays. Sleeps in Aziraphale's bed, hangs out on the angel’s couch, scrolling on their phone and listening to audiobooks. It should be a dream come true to be honest. 

It's not. 

It is nice to watch Aziraphale bustle around in the bookshop, organizing books, scaring off customers, and getting distracted by reading. But the angel doesn’t talk to Crowley. They bring Crowley things, painkillers and tea and blankets, new audiobooks - 

But they don't have conversations like before. Crowley's attempts to actually get to know Aziraphale, asking about where the angel was during different time periods, asking how many authors they'd met, how dates had gone with other demons, result in Aziraphale lighting up for a moment and then dimming. The angel gives quick, nervous answers that contain facts and not any of the detail or life that Aziraphale normally puts into their stories. 

At first Crowley thinks that it's Aziraphale just treating Crowley with a polite, caring disinterest now that Crowley can't provide any of the things the angel had wanted from this. 

A few days after the stabbing Crowley figures out the real reason. 

Crowley's lounging on the couch in a typically bizarre way, back bent and curved over the arm and head and chest upside down. They hum, craning back further to look at the angel. "That's a nice cover on that copy of Frankenstein, properly spooky. Maybe I should listen to that one next? Never have."

Before, this would have started a long, involved discussion that would have begun with Frankenstein and wound its way through tangentially related topics for hours. 

It starts the same, Aziraphale lighting up and raising the book to better show off the cover, opening their mouth with a smile. "You haven't? Oh really it's quite a m-marvelous -" they stutter and cut themself off, looking down as their smile turns fixed. "Oh but you hardly need to hear me ramble about it! I'll get you a copy once I'm done with this bit of reshelving." 

Crowley buys time to think by wiggling back into an upright position, being careful not to jostle the arm in the sling too much. "What if I like hearing you ramble about it? Always have, haven't I?" 

Aziraphale huffs. "Yes and while I may have taken advantage of your patience and indulgence while this was a job to you, I'm hardly going to force you to participate in my passing fancies and babbling while you're trapped here with me! I'm not quite that cruel." 

Crowley stares at the angel, mouth open in horror. "Wait, what?" 

Aziraphale blushes. "I am sorry for taking advantage before. I do feel like it's a fair trade for the seductions when I'm giving harmless information that will make the missions a success, but my dear you got _stabbed_ for me - I'm not going to subject you to it now.” They huff. “It's not a job, you won't gain anything by it, and your place here is guaranteed without it." 

Crowley stares, flabbergasted. Realizing. Aziraphale doesn't look disinterested or cautious when they shut down before talking about things they care about, they look small. All that sunny confidence that Crowley is accustomed to gone, replaced with something disturbingly close to shame. 

And Aziraphale had already said it hadn't they? This is what the angel thought Crowley was lying about. Not the stabbing, but the fact that Crowley even _likes_ being around Aziraphale, likes hearing them talk about things the angel cares about. 

And there's nothing Crowley can do about it, no way Aziraphale would believe an appeal. Not as long as the demon is trapped under their roof. 

Aziraphale had only believed in Crowley's interest within the confines of a job. 

Crowley might have an idea. 

***

Crowley starts writing copies of the contract as soon as they find the extra stationary in Aziraphale's desk, using their powers as a miraculous eraser. 

If Aziraphale considers staying in the shop payment for botching a murder attempt, Crowley will have to ask for something else to get things back to normal between them. They’ll also make the contract too appealing to pass up. 

What they eventually come up with is,

**THIS IS A CONTRACT BETWEEN THE DEMON CROWLEY AND THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE STATING THAT:**

**IN EXCHANGE FOR:**

**RESIDENCE IN THE BOOKSHOP A. Z. FELL & CO.  
A TV  
A COFFEE MACHINE **

**THE DEMON CROWLEY WILL:**

**STRIVE TO DO THEIR VERY BEST TO MAKE THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE HAPPY. USING METHODS INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO:**

**LONG CONVERSATIONS WHERE THE DEMON CROWLEY LISTENS TO AND ENGAGES WITH THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE'S INTERESTS  
ORDERING FOOD ONLINE  
WING GROOMING (IF THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE IS INTO THAT SORT OF THING)**

**SIGNED  
___________________  
___________________**

Crowley frets over it for hours, it’s not enough, is it? Too uneven. Even if Crowley knows Aziraphale isn’t going to kick them out any time soon and that they can change a contract under mutual agreement, it’s still Crowley asking for a living space in exchange for some good company. It’s not even offering Aziraphale any guarantee of safety from Crowley. As far as Crowley knows a lot of the angel’s nerves could be reservations about demonic violence. 

So, something reassuring, something that’ll sweeten the deal. 

Making some miraculous space Crowley adds under the thing about the coffee machine,

 **4\. OBEY DIRECT ORDERS FROM THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE**

Which is a bit nerve-wracking, but it is _Aziraphale_ ; it's not like the angel is actually going to order Crowley around. It’s just… reassurance. 

Satisfied, Crowley signs. They figure Aziraphale will have some edits or clauses they want to add but it’s a good start, and signing will make it more official. 

***

Crowley procrastinates for about a day before nervously approaching Aziraphale about it. 

Coughing, they interrupt Aziraphale’s reshelving. Aziraphale turns with a puzzled frown. “Yes, dear?” 

Crowley blushes at the dear and shoves the contract into Aziraphale’s hands. “I, uh, I was thinking about what you were saying and I figured out something that might help.”

Aziraphale frowns, turning the paper over. “What I was saying?”

As Aziraphale pulls out their ridiculous little spectacles to look at the contract. Crowley babbles on. “See, this way things can kind of go back to normal right? If you just meet m-my -“ Crowley struggles to think of a way to phrase this that’ll be believable “-demands? Then we’ll both be getting something and it’ll all be- ” It’ll all be ok again they want to say, they bite it back.

Aziraphale seems to have finished reading because they’re frozen with a look of shock on their face. 

Crowley shifts on their feet nervously and squeaks “So, what do you say?” 

The contract goes up in a burst of flame and Crowley squeaks again, this time in terror- Aziraphale looks _furious._

Aziraphales hands clench, shaking at their sides. “Are you out of your _bloody mind_ , Crowley?” 

Crowley is beginning to think that they’ve made a very big mistake. “I don’t, ah, was it the coffee machine because I can change that! Or the staying at your shop thing because I can find somewhere else to camp out if you maybe wouldn’t mind helping with the wards-”

Aziraphales cheeks are red, their eyes flaming and they cut Crowley off. “It is _not_ the coffee! Crowley you just handed me a _signed contract_ that says that you’ll follow any order I give!” 

Aziraphale looks like they want to slam Crowley into a wall and Crowley backs into a bookshelf helpfully, just in case. “And that’s… bad?” 

Aziraphale flings their hands up in the air and screeches. “Yes, it’s bad! Why would you want that, why would I want that? I will keep you safe, I told you I would, why would you, why, why -” Aziraphale stutters and chokes and then they’re storming away, eyes brimming with tears. “I need some time alone! Do not leave the shop, two demons have already tried to get through the wards and I’m sure they’re watching!” 

Crowley stares after Aziraphale and then, to the empty room, mumbles. “Right. Well. That was… a thing.” 

*** 

It’s been ten hours since Crowley last saw Aziraphale and they’re making an apology breakfast. The fact that Crowley doesn’t know how to cook is being made up for by the many cookbooks in the shop.

Crowley doesn’t know exactly what they’re apologizing _for_ but the blueberry muffins are rising and the misshapen pancakes have already been put on a plate. Giving Crowley time to have a nice long self pitying cry about it all. 

Once everything is laid out and a small miracle is in place to keep it all fresh and warm Crowley decides to spend the rest of the time waiting for Aziraphale as a large snake curled up under the couch. 

*** 

Crowley wakes to a panicked shout. transforming back with a surprised hiss and then a pained yelp as they brain themself on the bottom of the couch. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sounds out of breath and when Crowley wiggles their head out to look at the angel they can see that they look relieved and flushed. “I was so worried that you’d left! Or been taken, or-or” Aziraphale sucks in a breath. “What in tarnation are you doing under the couch?” 

Crowley wiggles out and stands, looking away from Aziraphale sheepishly. “Napping. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Nether speaks for a moment, awkwardness thick in the air. Then they both take deep breaths and blurt out simultaneously “I’m sorry!” 

It's Aziraphale who reacts first. “My dear what do you have to be sorry for? I _completely_ overreacted and I didnt even properly explain myself.” 

Crowley blinks. “But, the contract made you upset! I wrote it and it made you upset.” 

Aziraphale makes a frustrated teakettle noise. “My dear, do you even know why it made me upset?” 

Crowley hunches down and shakes their head. 

Aziraphale sighs. “Here, how about we sit?” The angel walks over to plop down on the couch and Crowley gingerly follows suit. After hesitating for a moment Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand. “I was upset, and for good reasons, but I shouldn’t have gotten angry.” 

They take a deep breath. “Crowley, you are welcome here, for as long as you need. When you wish to leave I will do everything in my power to help you, if that’s finding a place and warding it, of course I'll assist. But it’s safe here, my supervisors haven’t checked in since I opened the shop.” They look away. “I’m on my own and willing to make my space yours. You don’t need to fear me kicking you out, and you don’t need elaborate schemes or contracts that will give me power over you in order to secure that.” 

Crowley's throat feels clogged and they blink rapidly before daring to speak. “That’s not why I wrote it though! Not really. Just threw that bit to make it fair. I didn’t think you were going to kick me out.” 

Aziraphale looks confused. “Well why in God’s name did you write it then?” 

In for a penny. “I wanted you to think there was a reason for me to want to listen to you.” Crowley grimises. “Not very believable is it? Someone trapped under your roof after betraying you saying ‘hey actually I like you a lot can we please go back to how things were before we were honest about tricking each other’” Crowley looks down, away from Aziraphale’s face. “I miss you, is all. I never…” Crowley's voice crokes and they squeeze their eyes shut. “I threw out the mission after the first date, spun something Beelzabub would like for my reports. And this -” Crowley gestures back and forth between them “Us. Liking you, has always been honest. Even if I was lying about what I was.” 

Aziraphale’s hand tightens on Crowley’s but the demon can’t look at their face. Silence stretches, until eventually Aziraphale croaks, hoarse and terribly small. “Alright.” 

Crowley's mouth wobbles around the question. “Alright?” 

Aziraphale nods, eyes on where their hands are intertwined. “Crowley, you are my dearest friend. You would be even if all of our interactions had been dishonest. The heart feels even what the head knows must be wrong, after all.” Aziraphale gives a wobbly smile “I believe you. I think you’re a good enough liar to fool Hell, but that is not a very high bar.” 

So Crowley clutches the angel’s hand, and that’s that. 

*** 

“Oh I forgot breakfast!” Crowley shoots up from where they’ve been dosing on Aziraphale’s lap. 

Aziraphale looks up from their book and blinks owlishly. “Break-?” And then memory dawns. “Oh yes I saw that, I’m afraid I was quite distracted though, did you make it?” 

Crowley reddens. “Uh, yeah, a bit, it’s miracled fresh if you want some?” 

Aziraphale smiles like a sunbeam. “That would be lovely.”

*** 

“Ok so how- ” Crowley gestures a bit drunkenly. “How did the whole, demon dating thing start?”

Aziraphale splutters on a sip of wine, blushing red, eyes darting to the side. 

Crowley bites down a giggle. “Come oooon-” they weedle. 

Aziraphale fidgets with the glass. “Ah, well, you see.” The angel takes a sip of wine, still red as a beet. “I suspect it was the gentlemen's club.” 

Crowley raises an eyebrow. 

Aziraphale’s eyes flick back to the demon’s face. “I was just there for the dancing you know! I was feeling a bit lonely, and they were all such lovely young men, very patient teaching me the gavotte.” 

Crowley’s grin feels like it's splitting their face. “You know how to dance?!” 

A bit of pride joins the embarrassment on the angel’s face. “Just the one! A terrible shame it went out of style. I think I was quite good.” Aziraphale looks away again. “But well, Hell has always kept tabs you know. It’s easy enough to spot the spys, poor dears.” The angel sighs. “But they saw me dancing and, considering that most of the patrons of the club would regularly bugger each other in the private rooms, they drew quite the wrong conclusion!” 

Crowley slides off the couch and puddles on the floor in their laughter. 

Aziraphale nudges the demon with a foot. “Oh yes, yuck it up.” 

Crowley hiccups, wiping tears from their eyes and choosing to remain on the floor. “Ok ok, so Hell thinks you’re buggering the whole club and sends you a honeypot, what made you decide to humor them?” 

Aziraphale sighs. “Well I didn’t at first, the first one was a bit horrid to be honest. Very overconfident, lots of muscles, tried to approach me and immediately started talking over me. 

Crowley scoots to rest their head on the angel's feet. “What a wanker!” 

Aziraphale huffs a put upon sigh. “Well, as you can imagine, I snubbed him quite thoroughly. Assumed that would be it to be honest but then…” Aziraphale sighs again, a bit amused this time. “Well of course they sent a second one. The poor little fellow just seemed so out of their depth, came up to me and stuttered out and I quote _‘you seem like an Angel, but in the human way, would you like to go steady’_ \- maybe you know them actually?” Azirphale looks hopeful. “Short fellow with a snail aspect, fairly cute in a squishy sort of way.” 

Crowley shakes their head, and then scowls. “Probably expected them to fail, easy reason to punish someone who’s annoyed someone nastier.” 

Aziraphale looks sad. “Well, I just thought it wouldn’t do any harm _really._ So I told them to buy me dinner and found that they weren't too bad company, if a bit quiet. And the waiter seemed so happy that I wasn’t alone that time! It felt less… less sad I suppose, less lonely to have someone with me for a bit. It’s so hard with humans, when you bond with them you know they’ll die so soon.” 

The angel sniffs and Crowley clambers up to deposit themself in their lap. 

Now committed to the telling the angel goes on. “So we went on a few dates, I let slip that my boss believes that horses are the work of a devil, and association should be considered grounds for damnation.” 

Crowley cackles. _“Horses?”_

Aziraphale smiles smugly. “Well they are awfully hard on the buttocks.” They look a bit wistful. “And then he was gone.” 

Crowley rubs at the angel's shoulder consolingly. 

“Well!” The angel attempts to brighten. “That’s where it started, I would reject the ones I didn’t like and go out with the ones who didn’t seem so bad. I do think some of them liked me a bit, and I considered it a mutually beneficial exchange!” 

Crowley nods, a little heartbroken but not willing to show it. “Seems like a good system.” Then the demon scowls. “Until your case got delegated and the new management decided I should bloody stab you that is.”

Aziraphale hums. “Inconvenient yes, but at least... well.” and the angel is red again. “At least we know we’re in this together now?” 

And Crowley grins, using their good arm to hug the angel. “Well yes, I suppose there’s that.” 

\---

Two weeks after Crowley started hiding in the bookshop they get a letter from Hell.

**CRAWLEY,**

**This letter is to inform you that your employment with HELL will end as of WHEN YOU READ THIS LETTER**

**You have been terminated for the following reasons**

**REFUSING TO STAB AN ANGEL**

**REFUSING TO SUBMIT TO PUNISHMENT FROM YOUR SUPERIORS**

**BEING A SLIPPERY BASTARD**

**QUITTING**

**VERBALLY SUBMITTING A TWO WEEKS NOTICE**

**This decision is not reversible**

**You will receive NOTHING**

**Your healthcare benefited will be YOU WEREN'T FULL-TIME SO THIS IS NON APPLICABLE**

**You are requested to return ALL COMPANY PROPERTY**

**Also please keep in mind that you have signed A NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT, IF YOU GIVE HEAVEN INTEL WE *WILL* SET YOU ON FIRE I DON'T CARE WHAT THAT LIZARD IN DR SAYS**

**Signed**

**ZIR BEELZABUB**

Crowley brings it to Aziraphale to read to make sure they’re not hallucinating 

Aziraphale reads it over with a straight face, finishes and carefully folds their glasses to tuck them away in a front pocket. The angel then giggles themself into a wheezing mess, quickly accompanied by a very relieved Crowley. 

Crowley’s missed the ducks. 

***

“You just have to understand that AR is not nearly as competent as DR!” Aziraphale chews a lip nervously. “And what if it draws their attention back to me, I can’t have angels in the shop now that you’re living here!” 

Crowley nods. “Fair, but also-“ Crowley doesn’t really want to bring this up, but... “It worries you, still working for Heaven with me here, and-” Crowley bites their own lip, hard. “Love, they haven’t talked to you or given you a mission in centuries, they haven’t acknowledged your reports. I think they might not really… care whether you work for them or not?” 

It’s an old wound, clear as anything, and Crowley feels like a complete heel for bringing it up. But Aziraphale sucks in a deep breath and, eyes full of tears but determined. “Very well, you’re right. I’ll try it. 

***

A few days later a letter of resignation from a forgotten Principality arrives on the Archangel Gabriel’s desk, to be distractedly approved after a quick enquiry to his secretary. 

“Who the fuck is Aziraphale?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask me questions over at [munchmulch](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/)


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